


Lamp to my feet

by MrsCaulfield



Series: Divine Intervention [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, An ode to White Suit Crowley, Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Clothed Sex, Dom Crowley (Good Omens), Experienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Religious Elements, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCaulfield/pseuds/MrsCaulfield
Summary: Anthony leans in, his scent filling in all of Aziraphale’s senses. A wondrously soft growl curls into the shell of his ear. "Which surface do you want to be taken on first?"Aziraphale shivers, lids drifting shut as a familiar tranquility settles over him. He sends a quick word upwards.Thank you. Thank you so much.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Divine Intervention [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123709
Comments: 28
Kudos: 228
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs, Top Crowley Library





	Lamp to my feet

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately there's more.

Aziraphale hasn't brought a lot of men back to his flat, but he also hasn't brought home only a few of them. Usually they were lean, pretty, and very eager to please. He has a type, of course. As with many other things, he has _standards._ Recently, as he became more greatly aware of the charms of a winning smile and a limitless credit card, he's begun to attract more younger lovers. Not that he minds it. He has great appreciation for their youthful eagerness, their innocent vigour, and their pert muscle pressed on every inch of his naked skin—and if a simple wine and dine at the Ritz is all he has to shell out for it then it's a price he's more than willing to pay.

Given all that, one would think that he has no reason at all to be nervous about tonight, but he is. Because even though this is far from his first time bringing someone home for a night of joining giblets, this is the first time he's bringing home a man who's stepped straight out of his deepest, wildest fantasies.

Anthony is— _good Lord,_ where to even begin? His marvelous cheekbones. His warm brown eyes. The sinuous line of his toned build. His long and shapely cock. His sinful voice, humming into a low drawl as he takes Aziraphale apart, telling him to look pretty and _beg_ for it and _maybe_ he'll have it. He has everything that Aziraphale wants—and boy, does he _want._

He's a mess of nerves by the time they get to his doorstep and he enters in the code to his penthouse. The lock clicks open. Soft lights hum to life when they enter the room, and he's barely finished taking off his coat and exhaling the breath he was holding when he's shoved into the nearest wall, pinned in place by Anthony's lithe form, pressed tight over every inch of his body. He lets out a keening whine as long fingers fumble with his bowtie, furious and impatient, tugging it loose until it's nothing more than a limp strip of tartan hanging from his neck. Anthony moves onto the buttons of his shirt, popping them open with little effort, one by one, cool air brushing over newly exposed patch of his soft chest. Aziraphale arches his back, panting, pressing into Anthony's touch, craving it like he’s never craved anything before.

Anthony leans in, his scent filling in all of Aziraphale’s senses. A wondrously soft growl curls into the shell of his ear. "Which surface do you want to be taken on first?"

Aziraphale shivers, lids drifting shut as a familiar tranquility settles over him. He sends a quick word upwards.

 _Thank you. Thank you_ **_so_ ** _much._

He grazes the tip of his nose to Anthony's defined cheekbone, breath heavy with arousal as he struggles to speak. "The bed would be a nice start."

Anthony’s hands finish their work on his shirt buttons, the fabric slipped off his shoulders to fall into a rumpled heap on the floor. Hot palms glide over and explore his bare chest, fingers splayed, kneading lightly over his nipples. "Beds." His face scrunches up in distaste. "Beds are boring."

"I have always had a preference for the classics." He arches further into Anthony's touch, sighing when he feels those hands squeezing his soft pecs, hardened nipples pricking coarse palms.

His eagerness doesn't escape Anthony's notice, and an arrogant smirk forms on his lips. "Right. One classic pounding, coming right up. Lead the way, angel."

Anthony heaves himself off the wall. In a stroke of courage, Aziraphale grabs his hand, twines their fingers, and squeezes. Anthony shoots him a soft, almost startled look, and he wonders for a moment whether that was a mistake.

But Anthony squeezes his hand in return, an unrelenting grip curled around Aziraphale's palm, so tight that it's almost painful. But he doesn't mind. Not if it's Anthony. With Anthony, it almost becomes a comfort.

It's almost easy to forget that this is only their second time meeting. There's a sense of rightness to it that Aziraphale can't explain, though a faint tugging in his mind is able to supply the answer.

_It's ineffable._

He smiles. "Bedroom's this way, my dear."

He pulls Anthony across the expanse of the flat. The silence that surrounds them gives conditions most conducive for meditation. More unspoken prayers slip past him. Silent songs of praise. Hums of gratitude. Intensifying further as he leads Anthony in to enter his bedroom. He hesitates for a moment, wondering how they should go from here. How does Anthony want him? He buys himself some time by meticulously toeing off his shoes and socks, and seeing from the corner of his eye that Anthony has done the same. 

_I want him to look at me._

He moves forward, eager to get to the bed so he can spread himself out. To offer himself for Anthony, but he's halted by an arm drawn across his chest.

"Stay."

Deep, shaky breaths. Aziraphale nods. "Listen."

Anthony halts his movements, eyebrow cocked.

Just let it out. He shouldn't be shy about this. "I got tested, recently. And I am clean."

A wicked smile forms on his face. "So am I."

"And you... haven't been with anyone since..."

"No. Have you?"

Aziraphale shakes his head. Another quick look to the ceiling. _You really do perform miracles for the faithful._

With a quick wink and sly grin, Anthony moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He tugs at his loose black tie, slipping it off from his neck and dropping it on the carpet. His fingers slide down over his clothed taut stomach, stopping at his groin to cup the growing bulge in his trousers. Aziraphale flames up under his gaze, focused entirely on him. There's the unsettling feeling of being exposed. It speeds up his heartbeat, tugs on every vein of his body, and he _wants_ it. With every fibre of his being. He knows he shouldn't, and yet he doesn't make an attempt to resist.

He relishes in it, the feeling of being wanted by Anthony.

He licks his dry lips, batting his eyelashes. "What do you want me to do?" 

Anthony tilts his head, the motion of it strangely serpentine in its grace. His blistering gaze rakes over Aziraphale, looking him up from head to toe.

"Strip."

Instantly, his hands fly off to his waistband, undoing his trousers and pushing them down. He's left standing in just his pants, tented from his fully erect cock and brought to its state by the desire plainly written on Anthony's face. He pulls down the last remaining garment without hesitation, and he stands in full bareness, expectantly looking at his lover.

Anthony scoots back on the bed, crawling backwards until he hits the headboard. Good God. He is a vision—mussed hair and long limbs lined with gorgeous lean muscle, his shirt half-untucked as a result of their previous activities and his dick straining against the confines. How Aziraphale wants to see it again. Everything about Anthony screams want. Redolent with temptation. Unjustifiably seductive. He is an arresting sight and Aziraphale wants him so bad he can hardly recall being able to do anything else.

Anthony pats his lap, and Aziraphale bounds straight over to the bed and straddles his hips. There was never a time before Anthony. Everything that's happened to him prior to the night they met was only a buildup, a time before time itself existed. Clocks did not learn how to tick until Anthony strode over to their table and introduced himself to Aziraphale, wearing that ridiculously attractive white suit and speaking in his most charming voice: _'I will be your server tonight.'_

The barest touch of Anthony's white shirt to his member has him gasping. He's so alarmingly bare, looking down on his handsome lover who hardly looks a hair out of place. A hot flush creeps over his neck and bare chest, the extents of it fully exposed to Anthony, who watches him with eager, unrelenting focus. Aziraphale is desperate for friction, urgently needs to be touched. Unable to hold back, he snaps his hips, grinding his erection to Anthony's stomach and staining the shirt with precome. He whines shamelessly. 

Anthony grabs his hips, pulling him down to grind his erection into Aziraphale's bare arse. The obscene moan that escapes him, entirely without his permission, surprises even himself. He slaps a hand over his mouth, mortified.

"You're beautiful," Anthony says, rolling his hips into Aziraphale's arse. It's so very good to feel desired, to be wanted so badly. Aziraphale wants to drop everything else in his life, if it means he can be lavished with Anthony’s adorations for all of eternity. He drops his hands to Anthony's shoulders and grips tight on the fabric, biting his lip to hold back more of his moans. Anthony just smiles, gazing up at him with evident interest. "This is what you were meant to do. Wouldn’t you agree?"

Aziraphale presses himself to Anthony's stomach again, seeking more friction. Anthony slaps his arse, just a light tap, but it awakens all his senses and sends his lids flying open. He trains his pleading gaze over at Anthony, babbles a litany of incoherent agreements. He hugs Anthony's shoulders and buries his face in his neck, hot breaths on a sheen of sweat forming on sweet-smelling skin. It's comfort like he's never known before. The hands on his hips dig deeper, sure to form bruises, and he gives a pleasant sigh. He wants all of it. Everything that Anthony is willing to give him.

Anthony turns to growl into his ear. "The lube, angel."

His breath catches in his throat. Getting up is the last thing he wants to do, but he has to do it. He wants to be spread out, fucked loose and open well into the night, maybe until daylight, by this irresistible man moving beneath him. Slathering him with praises. And it's this strong resolve that gets him to get off of his comfortable seat and reach over to retrieve the bottle of lube from the nightstand. He's back to his previous position in only a few seconds, back to grinding on Anthony's stomach as hands grip his buttocks and a cool, slick finger circles his entrance. 

Aziraphale can't wait. He arches himself, tries to get that finger inside him. "Be still," Anthony commands, and he whines and obeys. The finger slips past his entrance, coming up to the final knuckle and stroking his wall, grazing his prostate just barely. It isn't enough. He heaves a gasp, grip tight on Anthony's shoulders and he looks into Anthony's face and musters up all the force in his tone. 

"More." He fucks himself on Anthony's finger, trying to slip it out or move it around inside him, just anything. 

Anthony quirks up a brow. "We barely just started."

"Don't care. Need more. Can take it."

"Now, angel, we don't need to be—"

"I said _more,_ Anthony." With a scowl, he takes one hand off Anthony's shoulder to reach behind him, slipping his own finger past his entrance to join Anthony's. It's dry and he's still clenched tight. The intrusion shocks him and he yelps.

Anthony pulls out and slaps his hand away. "Shit. Stop that. You're hurting yourself." He circles his arms around Aziraphale to coat himself with more lube. He sticks three fingers inside Aziraphale, all at once. It's a tight stretch, but he goes slowly and Aziraphale breathes deep, sinking down little by little. He groans when he has the entire length in. 

_"Oh."_ It's good. It's Heaven. Anthony moves his fingers.

"Let me take care of you. The way an _angel_ deserves."

Aziraphale moans, keeps himself still on straining thighs, bending with his arse jutting out so Anthony has more room to thrust his fingers. In and out. In and out. Wiggling against his walls, prying him loose, warm pads of skin grazing his prostate, pressing more insistently, pulling back and repeating the same motion. Again and again and again. 

Aziraphale is a sobbing mess. He presses wet kisses on every exposed patch of skin of Anthony that he can reach—his jaw, his cheek, his ear, the side of his neck. Weeping with prayers of gratitude hanging on his tongue. "A-Anthony, please. C-can I have your c-cock now?"

Anthony ignores him, his fingers picking up in pace, thrusting into Aziraphale like it's a means to an end, merciless on his bundle of nerves. A coil of pleasure forms deep in his gut and his eyes fly open in panic, hands scrabbling to hold onto Anthony's shoulders. He can’t come yet. He can’t.

"P-please. Wait."

Anthony doesn't do anything. "Hm? What do you need, angel?"

The fingers keep thrusting, shooting bursts of torturous pleasure down his every limb. "Anthony—"

"Tell me."

"Anthony, please!"

 _"Beg_ me, angel."

"I want to come on your cock! P-please, please don't make me come just yet."

Anthony stills his hand and pulls out. "Very good."

Aziraphale sighs in relief, fighting through the numbing haziness in his head as he plops down on Anthony's lap.

Anthony pets his hair. “So good for me,” he mumbles. He glances down at his still fully-clothed cock. "Go take what you want, angel. You've earned it."

On shaky breaths and trembling limbs, Aziraphale leans down to undo Anthony's trousers and free his erection. Anthony sighs when he's released. He can't imagine how it must be for him. He's been hard since the car ride, almost entirely neglected and focusing entirely on indulging Aziraphale. He weeps, sending another quick message heavenwards: _You giveth what I ask, tenfold._

Anthony's member throbs in his hand, and he springs backwards to give it a quick lick. Anthony gasps, his hands flying up to Aziraphale's hair, keeping him still. Aziraphale gives him one good suck, tight and hot in his mouth, keeping the suction until Anthony's thighs convulse beneath him. He pulls off.

Aziraphale has, on many occasions, been told that his mouth is a blessing. And he lives for the feeling of a heavy cock dragging over his tongue, the tip of a head catching the back of his throat. But he can't give this to Anthony yet. He won't expose all of himself so soon. Not if he wants there to be something for him to come back to. So he pulls himself back up to straddle his thighs, relishing in the aghast expression on Anthony's face, his pupils blown wide.

Aziraphale grins, smug. All that from _one_ suck. 

He will happily give Anthony more if he looks like that every time, but there can be time for that later. Right now, he badly needs to be fucked. He picks up his knees and sinks his arse on Anthony's stiff member, slowly, smoothly until he gets to the base. He gives a tentative grind on Anthony's lap, looks into his lover's eyes and whimpers.

Anthony has a sweet smile on his face, his eyes hazy with desire. "Pretty angel. Is there anything else you need?"

Aziraphale bites his lip. "Kiss me?"

Faint surprise lingers on his face, but he leans in and gives Aziraphale an unexpectedly tender kiss that sends an ache of longing to his chest. Aziraphale moans into his mouth, returns the chaste kiss before pulling back and bouncing on his cock. He fights with Anthony's shirt, unbuttoning it all the way down to get at his skin, and when that's done he drags his palms over his bare chest as he moves, thighs straining with the effort of fucking himself on Anthony. His panting is obscene even to his own ears, delighting too much in the sheer effort that he has to maintain just to keep his pleasure going. He rides Anthony with abandon, fingernails grazing his nipples to elicit a gasp. 

Anthony grasps his hips, stilling them, and he thrusts up into Aziraphale. A squeal of delight slips past his lips as Anthony rams into him, groaning with every slap of skin on skin. "Fuck. You're so tight. So gorgeous like this. I love how you feel, angel. Feel so _good."_

Aziraphale preens. He clenches his walls around Anthony, wanting very badly to give him every ounce of pleasure within him. It's a need that consumes him almost as bad as the need to be pleasured himself—something that he's never experienced with any of his past lovers. 

The increased tightness drives Anthony wild. His eyes squint shut at his own pleasure, the tendons of his long neck coming to greater definition. He's perfection in corporeal form, and oh how Aziraphale wants him. Wants to be with him. Wants to keep him. Always. 

"Not gonna last like this..." Anthony moans, long and deep.

Aziraphale is surprised by how much he wants it when he says: "Do it, dear. Finish inside me."

"But you haven't—"

"I d-don't care, Anthony!" He cards his hands into wonderful red locks, grips tight, and whines. "I want to please you. Give me your come. Need it inside me, please. _Please."_

"Angel, holy shit, the mouth on you—" his words are cut off by a breathless moan. He picks up his pace, slamming up into Aziraphale and Aziraphale meets him with every thrust. Anthony's hips stutter for a bit before stilling completely as he climaxes, buried far up inside him.

Aziraphale sighs as he feels himself being filled, like nothing in the universe has ever been this _right._

He's so indescribably happy. Anthony's face is entirely lax, lost in his pleasure and reveling in his afterglow. Aziraphale has never been more proud of himself being so good for Anthony, that Anthony took his pleasure from _him_ and no one else. He groans, grasps his own member and pumps wildly. In only a few strokes, he's spilling all over Anthony's stomach, landing more stains over his pristine white shirt, and collapses on his shoulder, sobbing with utter bliss.

Anthony rolls them over to lie down on the bed. He curls up by Aziraphale's side, sitting up to remove his soiled shirt and using it to wipe off the streaks of come on their stomachs. Aziraphale lies back on the pillows, deeply sated. 

A hand moves over to stroke the side of his thigh, brushing inwards before grabbing the flesh and spreading his legs. Aziraphale looks down curiously as Anthony moves a hand down to prod his fingers at his arsehole, still leaking with Anthony's spend. 

A question in Anthony's eyes. "Should I also...?"

Aziraphale shakes his head. "No, I..." He blushes fiercely, hiding his face in Anthony's shoulder. "I like feeling that in there."

Anthony's grin widens. Lines form around the corners of his eyes. He's so achingly beautiful and Aziraphale can no longer deny his longing.

He desperately wants to kiss him, but he already asked a while ago and, for the first time in his life, he’s afraid to be greedy. Frightened of taking too much too soon and driving away this gorgeous, sexy, most charming _devil_. Anthony circles a finger over his entrance, pushing back some of the slick that's escaped, and Aziraphale sighs in contentment, eyelids drooping shut. He fights the instinct, unwilling to miss out on any second that he can be with Anthony. But he's already come twice tonight and it proves to be a challenge.

Anthony chuckles. "It's fine, angel. Go get some sleep. You've earned it."

Aziraphale wraps an arm over his stomach, dragging Anthony back to lie on the bed beside him. "You can sleep too, if you like," he mumbles, and he hates how desperate he sounds. But the relief that floods through him when Anthony settles back on the pillows is immense. 

Anthony bends up, pushing down his rumpled trousers and briefs, kicking them off to the floor. He envelops both their bodies under the sheets and curls up to Aziraphale's side.

With the reassurance that Anthony isn't going to leave just yet, Aziraphale allows himself to give in to sleep.

* * *

Aziraphale drifts out of slumber about three hours later and finds that Anthony is awake, eyes wide open at the ceiling. 

He brushes a hand to Anthony's chest, fingers splaying out over his sternum to feel his softly beating heart.

Anthony's breath catches. He looks down and meets his eye, and a wicked grin tugs up on his lips.

Naturally, they go for another round.

* * *

The next time Aziraphale wakes up, it's about five in the morning, and Anthony lies on his front, practically dead to the world. His arm is draped protectively over Aziraphale, and he has a leg hitched in between Aziraphale's calves. He's so much like a snake and it's terribly endearing. Aziraphale is overcome by a rush of affection and he leans in and brushes his lips to Anthony's forehead before disentangling himself from the embrace, as gently as possible without waking him.

He slides off the bed and kneels on the floor space beside the window. The room is still pitch dark, and he gazes up at the ceiling and meditates, lips moving with a faint mumble.

From the bed, Anthony stirs awake. "Angel..?" He groans softly, eyes opening then squinting shut. "Why're you up so early?"

"It's nothing, dear."

"D'you wanna... 'nother go?"

He can't hold back his giggle. It's so like Anthony to proposition him when he can barely keep his eyes open.

Aziraphale reaches over and grabs his hand, thumb stroking his knuckles. "It's fine. I am only doing my daily devotions. Go back to sleep."

Anthony's eyes have already drifted shut. "If you're sure. Come back to bed though."

"I will."

He slips easily back into slumber, and Aziraphale lingers on the sight, the fondest of smiles on his lips as the longing in his heart increases.

 _Your blessings abound,_ he prays, running his gaze over the defined muscles of Anthony's back.

_A lamp to my feet._

His hand trails a searing path down Anthony's spine. He truly is a thing of beauty. A most precious being.

_A light to my path._

His thumb digs into a dimple on his lower back, and the sight before him is a vision. A picture of all his dreams and darkest fantasies come to life.

_This blessed, blessed creature._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm about to hang up some streamers to congratulate these two for finally making it to an actual bed. Wasn't easy, but with teamwork and the power of fairy dust, we can do anything we set our minds to!
> 
> Kinda went a little easy on the blasphemy this time, but it'll be back full force in the next installments dont worry 
> 
> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/angelsnuffbox) and/or [ Tumblr](https://angelsnuffbox.tumblr.com/) for more... whatever this is


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